


I Could Be Your Family

by meli_fan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Friendship/Love, I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:52:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meli_fan/pseuds/meli_fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the remaining Stark family realized that Gendry once knew Arya and the one time she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rickon

**Author's Note:**

> Set years after aDwD, the war is coming to an end (but Daenerys hasn't landed on Westeros yet and the Others still haven't come so, basically Westeros is still clusterfuck because of internal problems).
> 
> I aged everyone to their show ages, which is two years older than canon, if I’m correct.

“The wolves are howling louder,” announces some man near the fire as if it wasn’t obvious to everyone. “Those beasts scare me more than the bloody Lannisters.”

He resist the urge to send Shaggy after the man, knowing that common japes can turn to ugly fights the night before a battle, with everyone’s blood running hot with expectation and blood thirst. Instead, he keeps on polishing his sword in the dark corner where he is currently sitting. Tomorrow, the united armies of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands would face the Lannisters for what would hopefully be their last encounter. Considering the fact that the Stormlands will join them in a surprise attack from the back to lock the red army between the two forces, the odds seem to be on their favor. And then finally after so nearly eight years of war, King’s Landing would go back to the Baratheons.

But no battle is won until it’s won, so the men are anxious anyhow. The wolves constant howling don’t help. Even though the pack helps them the same way Grey Wind would help Robb in battle, the men still feel unnerved by their near presence. But not Rickon. He has Shaggydog.

And Nymeria.

As if on cue, the she-wolf appears at his side, nuzzling his ribs for some affection. He pats her back and she lays by his side, as he lock his fingers through her hair the far away image he ahs of Arya comes to his head.

When he had first arrived at Winterfell, memories of his family were too far away for him to feel any longing for other Starks. But his return to the old home and his subsequent time spent with Jon, then Sansa and finally Bran had brought back memories of the good and happy times. They were distant memories but they came back to him with the force of winter, the same force that made him fight every Lannister to avenge all that he lost.

Just then Shaggy came back from hunting, so Nymeria jumped and the wolves started to play in front of him. He remembered a time when Robb and Jon were trying to see who could run faster with a kid on their back. As his older brother carried Sansa and his natural brother carried Bran on their back, Arya insisted on playing. But of course she didn’t want to be carried so she put him on her back and started to run, only to manage a few steps before falling face on the ground. Robb and Jon had kept on running, but he sat on Arya’s back laughed until she managed to put herself on fours and happily pretended to be his horse until their siblings came back.

He can’t remember who won the race, but Arya’s horsey smile is imprinted on his memories.

Suddenly, Nymeria stops playing with Shaggy and runs towards a knight who is walking a few feet from them. The man stops when the she-wolf gets on his way and Rickon looks on in surprise when Nymeria starts to nuzzle the man’s legs and jumps around him in the same affectionate way she does with Rickon. The man looks at him and walks closer and he recognizes him as their occasional armorer, ser Gendry.

Stannis has legitimized three of Robert’s bastards: Mya, Edric and Gendry. Mya remains with Sansa as her closest friend, Edric is Stannis heir and securely holds Storm’s End and Gendry has been promised a part in Bran’s court as soon as the war is over. Right now, he is part of the small portion of Baratheon men who stay with them to secure that everything goes according to the plan. 

Even though he and Gendry are to spend much time together if everything goes right, Rickon hasn’t bothered to meet the man. He is not very good at making friends and he already has a good opinion of Gendry from what he has heard so he had let it be. Gendry is very liked among the men. He was part of the Brotherhood without Banners, so the Riverrun forces favor him among other “highborn” knights. The northerners and those from the Vale value him for the services he gives to anyone who asks for a quick mend to their sword or help securing armor. Being born a bastard, he never looked at anyone as anything less than an equal and men respected him for that. He is a lord now, but he prefers to be called by his name and if people feel uncomfortable by this, he insists on being addressed by ‘ser’ rather than ‘my lord’.

Ser Gendry sits close to him and opens his hand, silently asking to examine his sword. “It’s good steel,” he comments after a moment.  
“Forged in Winterfell,” answers Rickon and he is about to deliver a description of this home to try to familiarize the lord with what will be his place but Nymeria’s whine interrupts him. Gendry passes back his sword and chuckles lightly when the she-wolf puts her head on his lap demanding to be petted. “She seems fond of you.”

“Aye, she seems to enjoy following me around in battle,” he answers as he pets her head and Rickon finally gets the answer of where does Nymeria goes when she is in the field.

“Strange, she doesn’t trust the men. They fear her even more than they fear Shaggydog.” He observes while Gendry just sits there with a pained look on his face, deep in though.

“If she does then I expect I never break her trust.” He confesses with a voice laced in sadness. “How did she came to you?”

“When we where near the Twins she showed up one night in the camp and Shaggy started to play with her, I recognized her then and she just came along with us. She and her pack.” He added at last. He saw anger flash across Gendry’s face before he replied.

“The Twins you say? I remember that battle, it was the first time she came to me. Nearly scared me to death before I realized she was protecting me.” 

Why would Nymeria protect Gendry? She had seemed loyal and protective only of Rickon before, and that was because he was family. Then a though came to him. “Ser?”

“Gendry, please.”

“Gendry, did you know my sister Arya?” He asks with impatience. The knight gives a sigh, before looking at Nymeria and giving him nod. “How come?”

“We travelled together from King’s Landing toward the Wall, we got captured together by the Mountain and his men. We were prisoners in Harrenhal, we escaped and then we were taken by the Brotherhood.” Deep in though and with a voice still laced by sadness, he finished the story there and by then Rickon’s pulse had quickened and Shaggy was anxious at his side.

“You spent a great deal of time together. That’s why Nymeria trusts you.”

“Nymeria wasn’t there.”

“Doesn’t matter, we are connected by something unexplainable, if Arya trusts you then Nymeria does.” He says resolutely. But this only seems to make Gendry even sadder.

“Arya couldn’t trust me; I left her and let her be taken by the Hound.” He admits as a silent fury seems to take over him as he speaks, “then he took her to those bloody Freys and even if she survived that, she is Gods knows where thanks to me.”

His anger stills Rickon for a moment before he manages to formulate an answer, “Harwin briefly explained to me and my brothers what happened when she ran. I didn’t know you were already part of them by then. But you shouldn’t blame yourself. Blame the Lannisters.”

“I do. I blame the Lannisters and the Cleganes. The Freys and the Boltons.” The hatred in his voice was obvious and Rickon remembered what they whispered of him: ‘he swings his hammer with the strength of a vengeance, like his father did when they stole what he really wanted’. 

The Bull they liked to call him, like they liked to call Rickon ‘The Wild Wolf’. But as his anger faded, the man in front of him didn’t seem so fierce, just sad. “They will all pay,” Rickon promised, “the wolves will come again and they will fear the day they ripped us apart. If it’s vengeance what you want, I will not rest until I get it so you can fight alongside me and the wolves as long as you want.”

Ser Gendry however only gave him a mirthless smile before confessing “I have spent years fulfilling that vengeance lord Rickon, but that will not bring my friend back.”

But Rickon knew better; Brianne, Stannis, Thoros, Harwin and even Gendry, they all though Arya was long dead. But Jon, Sansa, Bran and Rickon knew better. They were family and they could feel it, their pack still had one more member alive wandering around. Lost and alone, Arya was somewhere and hopefully, she would soon find her way back. “My sister is alive, Gendry. We are a pack and we would feel it if she was truly gone.” He promised staring at him.

A small glimmer of hope shone in Gendry’s eyes as he stared back. “I hope she is happy then, wherever she is. Lone wolves are not exactly merry creatures.”

“Arya will come to us someday. Nymeria will call her back the way Shaggy made me long for brothers and sisters when I was away.” It was true, and he hoped his sister felt the same push he had felt during his nights away in Skagos. The wolves still howled loudly in the distance, a calling.

“I shall stick to Nymeria’s side then.” Gendry concluded looking away, hope giving a light to his eyes. 

“Nymeria trusts in you, you are her family. When Arya comes looking for her pack, she will find us.” Rickon assured him. Seeing how easily hope had come back to Gendry, he thought that they must have been very close friends.

Family, a familiar female voice said in his head.

Nymeria stood suddenly, howling louder than any other wolf in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language. And book details sometimes evade me.
> 
> Rickon is thirteen. Book!canon had Robb going to war at fourteen/fifteen so I gues a wild Rickon with a dog at his side is not so young. Squires were young and they went to battle so why not?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'll try to update as soon as possible!


	2. Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place some months after the first chapter. Stannis sits on the Iron Throne.

Winterfell was never actually in ruins. The main parts of the castle had remained intact and that included the old rooms. As the lord, he could have taken his parent’s chambers, but the memory was still too painful. He slept on his old room, as did his brother and his sister when she visited. And when he marries Meera, he will remain in this chamber. He smiles thinking about his betrothed, who is spending some time in the Neck with her father, saying her goodbyes to Greywater Watch before moving permanently to the North. Meanwhile, he tried to rebuilt ery last detail of Winterfell so his future wife would once again live in the great castle that it once was.

“Uncle Bran! Uncle Bran! Look!”

From his place sitting in the steps that lead to the castle, he looks on to his niece, little Alayne who is actually riding Summer like it’s the easiest thing to do for any five year old. His smile only gets wider at her. A little wolf that she is.

“Aly! Be careful child,” warns his good-brother Harry and he can’t help but laugh at his worried expression. Alayne is clutching Summer's fur thightly and the wolf is walking as slow as possible.

“Don’t worry, she has the wolf of the blood in her, Summer won’t hurt her.” He reminds him. “Although mayhap it would upset Sansa, so it’s best if we keep it between us.”

His sister is with child, and since Alayne was born in the Vale, she insisted to have this one in the North. Harry, always seeking to please his wife, complied and left the castellan in charge of the Eyre. Now that Westeros in is peace and Stannis sits on the thrones, leaving their seat for some time didn’t seem so dangerous. The first time Sansa had come back to Winterfell, Harry worried too much about leaving the Eyre so she had arrived only with two year old Alayne, but he hadn’t been back then and he had missed meeting his niece.

Harry left to see to his wife, not before warning Alayne to ‘please don’t get in too much trouble’ and begging Bran to send his daughter to be cleaned before she goes back to see Sansa. Bran just sat there while the little chased after Summer and he couldn’t help but think of Arya. Free-spirited and adventurous Arya: the one who bested him in every game they played, the one that got dirty quicker than a pig and whose hair was always a mess.

Even if Alayne had the Tully look, she was all Arya. Free and wild, the wolf’s blood running thick in her veins.

Shaggydog howled somewhere afar and Summer joined him, starling Bran, Alayne and all the other who were on the in the courtyard.

“Uncle, what’s happening?” Asked the girl as she run towards him and kneeled at his side.

“I don’t know sweet girl” He answered honestly and put his hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her.

He could probably see it if he wanted, but after years learning he had come to the conclusion that it was best to use greenseeing in extreme occasions and not to try become more than man. His time with Three-eyed crow brought him much knowledge, but his father taught humility. It was the last one that got him respect from men, not magic, so he waited along with the rest of them if Summer did anything besides howling.

“What’s happening?” asked a deep voice from his side. He twisted his head to see Gendry, who probably came from the forge he was rebuilding and looked as concerned as the rest of them.

“We don’t know yet! I was riding Summer and he just started howling!” Answered little Aly and he saw Gendry smile at her before messing her hair.

“Look at you, your mother won’t like you seeing in breeches and that dirty tunic. How unladylike!” He added the last in a mocking tone and Bran couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. He liked Gendry well enough. They didn’t really have a lot in common but he put effort in helping him rebuild the damaged North and was always very honest about Stannis intentions.

“I’m not a lady! I’m a wolf!”

They both laughed at that, but their laughter was shadowed by Summer’s constant and sad howling. He could feel the wolf despair, but Rickon had already gone with a few men to search his wolf and there was nothing to do but wait.

“You remind me of a girl I met once; she was a little fierce wolf like you,” said Gendry. That distracted Bran from the wolves and not for the first time, he felt like the Baratheon lad knew much more that he let on.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, she carried a little thin sword on her hip and rode better that all the men from the Brotherhood without Banners.” He concluded with a smile and a faraway look.

“I want to learn to use a sword! But mother says no kind of lady uses swords” replied Alayne. Again she got a laugh from both men. Shaggy and Summer had stopped howling and now his direwolf paced with impatience. On the distance, he hears horses, most likely Rickon and the men on their way back.

 “I used to ask my friend what kind of lady she was, ‘the bad kind’ she would answer.” Confesses Gendry, making Alayne laugh and Gods bless her, it’s like hearing Arya laugh again. The smile is gone from his face now and from Gendry’s too.

Then Rickon and Shaggydog burst through the gates with the men and…

“Nymeria!”

Alayne’s scream jolts Gendry forward towards the group and both set off towards the cart that holds the wounded wolf. Nymeria is whining loudly until Gendry gets to her side starts petting her before questioning the men, at his tough the she-wolf starts to whine less loudly and closes her eyes in relaxation. Rickon mounts offs his horse and explains. “Shaggy found her near a river, the arrow is very deep but I think she will make it.” He finishes and tries to sooth his niece despair with a calming rub to her back.

“Aly,” Bran calls the little girl “clean yourself up and go to your mother, the howling must be keeping her restless and don’t worry, Nymeria will be taken care of.”

The girl runs inside while both Gendry and Rickon follow the cart toward the kennels. Bran instead asks Hodor to take him towards the Godswood. Summer tries to follow him but he orders his wolf to remain with its sister. Once he gets to the Heart Tree, he asks Hodor to leave him alone for a moment and stay just within hearing distance so he will get him inside when he calls.

_The visions come easily if he concentrates hard enough and soon he sees a woman, her facial features gone and her body naked. She is very thin, her bones visible and her scarred skin pale, as pale as winter. She is curled in a bed and seems to be suffering from great pain although no wound is visible. He sees dark figures around her, only their blood-covered hand visible as they appear to trying to sooth her but they only manage to stain her in blood. As she twists and clenches in pain, her face slowly clears to him, nose and lips appearing before he sees her steel grey eyes._

Nymeria’s weak howl pulls him back from the vision.

“Arya,” he mutters to himself and now he knows for sure. He closes his eyes again and tries to see more, willing his mind to show him what is to come.

_But the visions only show him Arya as he remembers her, perhaps only a bit older, surrounded by burned walls. He sees her small and miserable, holding secrets deep within herself and surrounded by enemies. He has seen her like this before. But this time, there are two figures by her side, a fat boy he does not recognizes and… Gendry? He has no time to be surprised as the vision changes once more and it shows him the same woman, Arya, with a smiling Alayne in this very same Godswood._

“Lord Stark,” says Gendry a bit franticly and he is brought back to reality. He seems uncomfortable, probably not used to seeing someone warg and least of all trash in dreams. “Are you alright?”

“The visions take their toll, but I don’t feel any real pain.” He deadpans. He doesn’t wish to explain the young lord the nature of greensight. He knows Gendry is aware of his abilities and he doesn’t feel any need to explain further. The man just sits in front of him and looks away. Nymeria is still howling weakly.

“She will be alright, but she seems to be suffering for something we cannot identify. She stops howling when I’m with her, but she stills whines. Summer and Shaggy try to comfort her but it’s not working too much.” He seems distressed at his uselessness and Bran wonders when did he got so close to the she-wolf.

“When did you start to speak wolf?” He asks trying to make sense to his vision. Gendry just gives him a mirthless laugh.

“She used to follow me around during the war,” Bran thinks Rickon mentioned that once before but now it slowly making more sense to him, “she still like to seek me around here too, although I don’t know where she goes at night.”

“Arya’s old room. Nymeria is the only one who goes in.” Bran confesses. He had tried himself to go but… It hurt too much. Sansa tried too, but she immediately burst into tears and couldn’t make it past the door before Harry ushered to her own room. “Nymeria is fond of you then; she must trust you as if you were part of her pack.” He waits for Gendry to elaborate but upon his silence, Bran decides to just ask right away “How did you meet Arya?”

“Yoren from the Night’s Watch was taking us to the Wall, getting us both out of King’s Landing. When the Gold cloaks found us we ran away but we ended up in Harrenhall. She and a friend of ours, Hot Pie,” that must have been the other boy in the vision “then we escaped too and the Brotherhood took us but she was kidnap by the Hound and I never know what happened to her after that.”

Nymeria kept on her low and weak howls. Gendry looked sad and angry, but he masked it as best as possible.

“Arya is alive,” announced Bran and surprisingly enough Gendry seemed to believe his statement rather than mock it, “I saw it, she alive but… She’s in pain.”

At this, worry took over his face, “She’s hurt?”

“No, no it’s not a physical pain. Although maybe that too…I couldn’t see much, she felt so… disconnected from me.” It was difficult to explain how foreign Arya felt to his senses. He still felt the deep pain and judging by Nymeria’s constant howling, so did she. “She seemed to have gone through some physical pain, but she was suffering from something deeper. It’s what’s making Nymeria so difficult to comfort. It’s not the body that is hurt, but the soul.”

When Gendry speaks again, the pain in his voice is as evident as it was in Bran’s. “Did you… Will we ever see her again?”

Gendry’s blue eyes were hopeful and Bran though that he seemed to know the answer to his question, for the hope in his eyes was so potent it nearly took his breath away. “Yes,” he answered and he didn’t remember when was the last time he cried but tears were threatening to fall from his eyes right now, “I saw her here with Alayne in this very same Godswood.”

Gendry gave him a big smile and asked “Was she happy?”

“I would like to believe she was, Alayne was smiling.” They both laughed; probably thinking about how much Aly would enjoy spending time with her aunt. Reality called them again when Nymeria howled a bit louder. “Please go sooth Nymeria before Sansa goes into an early labor.”

Gendry stands up and starts to walk back to the kennels before turning around and asking, “How long do you believe it will take to have her back?”

Bran didn’t need a vision for that, he felt it as a Stark, and his wolf blood knew his sister was coming back towards her family. “Not too long,  the pack will come together again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and kudos and reviews! I love you all! Lady Stoneheart comes next :)


	3. Lady Stoneheart

They found him almost by Moat Cailin. After the siegue and reconquer of Winterfell by Stannis, Ramsay Bolton fled and remained in hiding for quite some time. In the meantime she had managed to finish off every Frey and every Bolton, but this one. If it were her call, she would have him executed immediately, but she had to take him to Winterfell first.

To her children.

When Stannis came back into the picture, Lord Commander Jon Snow at his side and The Vale and the Blackfish joining his cause, the war had begun one more. Soon enough the Lannisters were defeated and peace came again, so the Brotherhood had disbanded. But the Northerners never forgot. Upon Lord Bran’s return to Winterfell, Lord Rickon and a few vengeful bannermen began a series of raids through the North in search of every last Bolton or anyone who ever aided them. Upon his sister return he chase to head back to Winterfell while Lady Stoneheart went south to the Neck. She kept her search in the name of the Starks, and found the bastard of Roose Bolton. As soon as possible, she took him back to the Wardens of the North

Lord Gendry wanted to smash his head, his hatred for the Freys, Boltons and Lannisters as strong as hers. But Lord Stark, Bran, her Bran, had imprisoned him before telling them that he wanted to “wait for someone else before finishing off their last enemy.”

Stupid. Final and complete revenge was in their hands at last and he kept the bastard alive- “I’m sorry my lady but we must wait,” he sentenced and as she put a hand to her throathto protest he carried on, “the pack must be complete, mother.”

He meant Arya. It was all her children seemed to think. That one of them was missing. And all of them insisted in their belief that Nymeria would call Arya so she could come home. She had seen Nymeria and the way she seemed to glare at everyone. Her daughter’s little girl said that the wolf was acting strangely, cranky and seemed deeply confused. Sometimes she growled at Alayne but sometimes she nuzzled her with deep affection. Bran had calmed down his niece telling her that wolves were wolves and wild creatures after all.  

She didn’t remember much, but she does know that Grey Wind always knew with whom tobe aggressive and with whom not to be.

She didn’t agree with lord Stark decision not to kill the bastard, but she had no choice in the matter, She could sense the Stark’s boys discomfort with her presence so she silently excused herself by holding her neck and muttering “Sansa.” Both her sons flinched at the sound of her voice but she made her way out of the Great Hall before they could stop her.

She has no intentions of getting near Sansa. Lady Hardyng was young and beautiful, with a daughter and another child in the way. All she once was, and Lady Stoneheart could only feel resentful. Of all of them. But at the same time…

There was a slim light of happiness it seemed, but mostly she felt hurt. Seeing them in Winterfell, rebuilding their lives… It was much harder than taking the lives of those who wronged them. What would be her purpose when they finally get rid of the Bolton bastard?

She walked through the courtyard feeling stares from all sides and made her way to the crypts where her husband was buried. She walked by statue after statue, until she finally reached Rickard Stark, then Brandon Stark, next was Lyanna and at her side was Eddard. She sat in front of his likeness and if she closed her eyes and for the first time in a long time she felt just the lightest bits of anger slipping away from her. Perhaps she was on her way to peace. She wanted peace of mind with the same strength she wanted revenge, and for her both things came together. Her body no longer craved food or warm. But she could be hungry for vengeance.

And she could shiver at the coldness of ghosts. Far away she heard the wolves howling. She opened her eyes and stared at Ned’s statue and then towards his right to Lyanna’s. On Ned’s other side was Robb. She moved towards im, the Young wolf, the King in the North. A reforged Ice was in front of Ned and Robb’s very own sword was there as well. How? Her white hands reached towards her son’s weapon but the sound of steps distracted her.

“Nymeria! Stop girl, stop!” Commanded lord Gendry as the she wolf ran towards Lady Stoneheart and he chased after her. The both stopped next to the woman and the she-wolf went to sit in front of Ned’s tomb, whining softly. She had a bandage at her right side. She lifted her paw toward the greatsword and her claws made a metallic noise when they touched the Valyrian steel. Lady Stoneheart couldn’t help herself from grabbing the wolf’s leg, earning her a threatening growl. Lord Gendry pets the beast to ease her. “Hey, careful there girl. It took me a long time to reforge that.”

She can’t help twisting her head towards him, asking silently. He avoids looking at her and instead focuses on Lyanna’s tomb.

“We got it back when we retook King’s Landing. Well, we took Tommen’s Widow’s Wail and Brianne gladly gave her Oathkeeper to reforge it. Tobho Mott helped me get it back to it’s initial color. He had kept the handle from the first time he had to reforge it.” He took a breath but his eyes remained on Lyanna’s statue. “I thought it was something that I ought to bring to the Starks, after all they went through serving Baratheons.”

He looked at her then and she was startled by how Baratheon he looked. Definitely looking as Robert did at his very same age, big and strong with black hair and blue eyes. She put a hand to her throat and simply said “Robb”.

He once again averted his gaze from her and knelt next to Nymeria and let the she-wolf nuzzle him. How could Arya’s wolf be so affectionate to a stranger?

“Rickon found his sword at the Twins. He didn’t know it was Robb’s until Brynden Tully told him so. Then he brought it back here.” He finished the tale and stood up, walking towards Lyanna’s tomb and looking into her likeness with a deep look. Nymeria did basically the same thing and once again her paw reached towards the stone. “Aye, it’s her look. Arya must look older now. ”

The pieces clicked. She put har hands to her throat again and said in one breath “You knew her.”

He only nodded as a response. “The brotherhood found us when we escaped Harrenhal.” She knew about her daughter’s journey from King’s Landing to Harrenhal and about her time with the Brotherhood. Harwin and the others looked for her after the Red Wedding, back when she was only focused on Frey’s and Bolton’s. Now there was nothing to focus on, and she finally realized how close her daughter had been… She could have gone to them in Riverrun or the Twins… even if she had been slaughtered like the rest then at least she would know.

Suddenly she understood the pain that her children were feeling. Not knowing was the worst. The pain she could avoid while killing but that here, in Winterfell, was ever constant and omnipresent. Three of her children were back and the other finally rested next to his ancestors. But fierce little Arya…

“They are sure she’s alive, and I believe them.” Said lord Gendry. He looked at the statue with the same hopeful look Robert gave to Lyanna at the tourney in Harrenhal, as if waiting for a smile. He went to leave but Nymeria wanted to stay. The wolf was looking at her. The man looked at Lady Stoneheart and swallowed before extending his hand offering her help to stand.

No one touched her, no one wanted to. The last hands who had touched her were the ones that cut her throat. She took his warm hand and stood up, letting go quickly. They made their way back up as Nymeria lead the way.

No words were spoken as they walked towards the Great Hall. All she could think of was the feast at Harrenhal during the tourney. Brandon told her that he found funny how Robert didn’t try to bed any woman and focused his attention on entertaining Lyanna. The devotion on Robert’s face was something she had not seen in anyone until today at the crypts, as Gendry spoke of Arya.

Was it possible that the gods had cursed another Baratheon man with loving a ghost?

The dinner was just starting on the Great Hall and as lord Gendry went to sit on his place next to Rickon, quickly joining in the conversation. She remained in the shadows and looked on towards the high table. Bran was telling a story to his smiling betrothed Meera, Rickon and Alayne were eating messily like beasts with Gendry smiling at their antics, while Sansa and her husband Harry talked baby plans. Only Arya was missing.

Summer and Shaggydog welcomed Nymeria and played along the large hall. The she-wolf playful noises could be heard along the room, and she caught the eye of every member of the table, their smiles fading a little.

It was Arya’s playful laughter they wanted to hear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really really hard to write, I figured she was a bitter creature, but who was starting to lose her way and purpose. I'm not sure about the final result, but I really don't think anything else could be done. Please review! What did you think of her POV?
> 
> I'm pretty sure in canon Catelyn didn't go to the tourney at Harrenhal but hey, why not? xD
> 
> Thanks for reading :) Sansa coming next and believe me, things will finally start to happen in that one...


	4. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberties were taken when it comes to the sack and burning of Winterfell.
> 
> As always, apologies for any mistakes.

She rubbed her belly with both hands, trying to calm herself from the worry that crept up her spine as she went through the courtyard back to the Great Keep. She enjoyed her walks forth and back from the Goodswood and according to the maester it did well to her and the child to keep activity and get fresh air. This time however, her visit to the Old Gods only made her anxious. She had been praying for a healthy babe, preferably a son to present to her husband, for Alayne and Harry, for Bran and Rickon, for Mya and their friends in the Eyre, for the North and the Vale, for peace. And finally, she had prayed for Arya.

She had been dreaming of her sister so much lately, it was unsettling. Especially considering Alayne already made a fine job of reminding her of Arya. They were so similar. Sometimes Aly would have this look, when she had done some mischief down in the kitchens and she swore it was like seeing little Arya all over again. Her little daughter who hated dresses and liked to play in the dirt. She tried so hard to make her a lady, but not too much because Alayne’s wild spirit almost made up for the lack of Arya in her life. Almost.

Winterfell yearned for Arya, one could feel it everywhere. Bran wanted someone to challenge him, Rickon wanted someone to enjoy the same things he did, Alayne wanted a lady like her to talk to, the wolves called out for their sister constantly, the service wanted someone to treat them with the familiarity her sister did. And even Sansa could admit she missed someone who would antagonize her.

She entered the keep and made her way towards Arya’s old chambers, hoping that this time she could have the strength to enter the room before bursting into tears. As she approached her destination, she heard the noise of a struggle. Closer, she finally saw ser Gendry and Nymeria and decided to remain in the darkness to watch them interact.

Nymeria circled around ser Gendry’s legs, pushing and directing him towards Arya’s room. As he came face to face to the door, Nymeria started to scratch the door, and so the young knight opened to let the wolf pass. She entered but Gendry just stood there contemplating the inside of the chamber with a pained look on his face.

“Ser,” she made her presence known and he turned surprised. She was momentarily startled by the intensity of his blue eyes and once again confirmed what everyone knew, he was Robert and Renly’s spitting image. Sansa hoped he aged better than his kingly father.

“My lady,” he quickly curtsied “Nymeria was restless and she kept getting on my way until she pushed me, she…” He didn’t finish his sentence as Sansa raised her hand to respectfully interrupt him.

“Don’t bother; I understand quite well the behavior of wolves. She’s quite wild, there’s no use in attempting to ignore her.” At her comment, he chuckled before peeking inside.

“This is Arry, uhm, lady Arya’s room?” He asked, eyes full of curiosity. The nickname and familiarity weren’t lost on her and years of learning how to read people from Littlefinger let her come to the obvious conclusion.

“You knew my sister.” He nodded even if it wasn’t a question. “Well that explains Nymeria following you around like a common puppy.”

He seemed to find her funny because he smiled at her comment. Not many people found her fun to be around so she quickly decided that she rather liked him. Years with Mya had taught her that bastards had as much wit as a noble borns and growing up with Jon she knew that birth origins didn’t define whether a man had honor or not. He had already proved to have both trades and now it seemed he also had a sense of humor. Now she understood why Rickon and Alayne seemed to enjoy his company so much.

 

“We travelled together. We left King’s Landing with a bunch of recruits for the Night Watch. We were taken as prisoners to Harrenhal, then we escaped and the Brotherhood…” He left it there, aware that Harwin had told them of when he stumbled upon Arya in the Riverlands.

Sansa just stood there resisting the urge to demand more details, to force him to tell her about every last moment he spent with her sister. Instead she decided to enter the chamber.

“Shall we?”

He looked doubtful, but he offered his arm nonetheless. She took it and together they went inside Arya’s room.

 It was the same as it had been all those years ago. When they burnt Winterfell, they mostly damaged the great hall and the grounds with the armory, the forge, the kennels, the kitchens and baths but the family rooms were kept intact. It was a bit nice to know they kept some respect.

Or maybe they were just stupid and did not manage to find where the main chambers were.

 Arya’s room still smelled like her: the scent of horse, grass and flowers. On her bedside was the book about Aegon’s War of Conquest that she had been reading. On her table the pergamins where she practiced her writing as well as some hideous needlework left hastily on top.

Nymeria happily smelled everything, excited as ever. Sansa couldn’t help herself from smiling, the wolf seemed so sad lately, especially after taking that wound to the side. Seeing the wolf so happy lifted her spirits. Last time she was here, she almost fainted but with Nymeria and ser Gendry’s strong hold she could do it. He was glancing around the room with curiosity, a slight hint of a smile on his lips.

“This is messy.”He said. Sansa laughed at that and let go of his arm and gently sat on the bed.

“Just like Alayne’s room” she replied.

Ser Gendry approached the fireplace and brought up his hands to touch the figures on the shelf above it.  Arye kept the wooden horse figures there, the ones their father had given her for her sixth nameday. “She liked riding.” Sansa explained.

“Aye, she rode like a northerner, Harwin said.”

“I was –am helpless at riding. I get tired easily and honestly, ladies have much more comfortable ways of travelling.” She admitted. He laughed at that as well.

“I was hopeless on a horse until war made me a better rider. Still feel better on my own two feet though. Some things cannot change.”

“Well, northerners have always been known as great riders, hopefully that will never change.”

“I meant the fact that I spent most of my life walking around the streets of King’s Landing.” He admitted, not ashamed of his origin.

Old Sansa would have found it scandalous that this lord spoke so easily about his lowborn origin as most would try to hide it for respect to other, but new Sansa knew better than to judge others based on their titles and names. Sadly, she couldn’t help but think that Arya always knew that lesson, that she didn’t need years of imprisonment in the snake’s pit and the game of thrones to teach her how to judge people. Her sister, it seemed, had outsmarted her even at nine.

“It must have been quite difficult for you to adjust to highborn life after years of freedom.” She offered.

“Not so much really, in times of war men belong in the battlefield, and we are all the same in there. Ser Davos Seaworth explained to me a lot about the ways of the highborns… Proper language, curtsies, how to read.”

“He sounds a very intelligent man.”

 “More intelligent than most. I wasn’t keen on the idea of this life… But he was a man like me… Born below, raise to the highest possible position. He made it seem like not all lords were pieces of… Forgive me my lady, I shouldn’t-” He was blushing like a maid and Sansa had to refrain from laughing.

“Please, I have been a bastard daughter, a traitor’s daughter, a traitor’s wife and a player in the game of the houses. I am aware of what the common folk thinks of higborns.”

“I didn’t wanted it,” he confessed, “for all I had seen, lords and ladies cared nothing for those lower than them.”

“Then why accept?” She questioned, “you wanted things only a name could give you?”

“I would have been happy, just being a blacksmith, doing my trade for the rest of my life.” She waited for him to explain himself and after looking around the room he carried on, “I spent years in the brotherhood and I knew the only reason they existed was because lords ignored their duties to their people. If I could take the responsibility and…” He stopped then and she knew that he was trying to avoid saying something bad about highborns.

“Be just, and noble and fair? Like lords are supposed to be?”

“Yes. I could be that and make it better for others like it wasn’t for me. Shireen convinced me really. She said that the Gods had given me a duty to others, that I couldn’t deny it.” There was something determined in his voice that reminded her of King Robbert’s.

“She’s right. We have a duty and we must honor it.” She said and she was surprised of how Stark she sounded. She liked to think her father and Robb would be proud of her, and she could only be certain of this if she carried on their teachings.

“She suggested the North and Stannis agreed. He knew lord Stark and said I would find that my honor would be welcomed here. Funny, considering bastards have no honor.” He said the last part with sadness in his voice, and Sansa was certain that he had surely being the victim of all the sayings people made of bastards.

“My natural brother Jon Snow is a bastard, and he is so honorable he rejected Robb’s last will and gave Bran Winterfell as he felt it was my little brother’s right.” She offered, with the hope that knowing that other bastards were honorable would give him piece of mind.

“All Starks seem very honorable, you included, my lady.”

“It is our biggest fault.” It was her turn to sound sad, for now that she was skilled in the game of thrones, she knew that it was honor what ultimately broke her family. The honor that Starks carried, but others took advantage of.

They said nothing for a while and even when she shed a few silent tears, ser Gendry politely pretended he did not notice. When he had walked around the room for the hundredth time, Nymeria happily following him around, he stopped to look out the window. She barely heard him speak up.

“She was so sad.” He confessed and Sansa was moved by the helplessness in his voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Arya. She… I was knighted by the Brotherhood and she looked so angry. All the time I thought she was angry but I imagined she would be so I didn’t regret it. But she was sad, I didn’t know she was sad, if I had known I wouldn’t have…” He trailed off and turned to look at her.

Sansa didn’t really know what to say, so she simply inquired “How do you know she was sad?”

“Because that night when I told her, the wolves howled the same way they did when she learnt the Brotherhood wouldn’t go to Riverrun and ran away, the same way they howled when Nymeria came wounded the other day. And lord Bran said, he said that Nymeria’s soul was suffering.” He explained all of this difficultly and Sansa knew that the man before her was consumed by the guilt he felt over her sister disappearance and by the devoted love her wolf seemed to profess towards him.

Again, Sansa found herself at loss of words, so she simply walked towards Nymeria and kneeled at her side, letting the wolf nuzzle her with affection. Lately the wolf had seemed so lost, she growled at Alayne and run towards some people as if she knew them before stopping abruptly. But her confusion seemed to cease inside Arya’s room. She was about to comment on this to ser Gendry when rapid footsteps were heard and almost immediately Rickon showed at the door.

“Sansa! Gendry!” He startled Nymeria with the force of his voice and Sansa carefully stepped away from the agitated she-wolf.

“What is it?” She questioned at the same time as ser Gendry. Rickon just swallowed and his Tully eyes were big with raw emotion.

“A raven came from the Wall, from Jon.” He quickly answered them. She couldn’t phantom what could her natural brother say in such a letter that could shake up Rickon in such a way. “He’s coming here…” that was unexpected but still not surprising, it wouldn’t be the first- “…with Arya.”

The three of them just stood there, shock silencing both Sansa and Gendry.

Arya, Arya alive, Arya alive and with Jon, Arya alive with Jon and coming home.

Nymeria’s loud howl pulled them out of their stupor and as the she wolf ran out of the room, the three of them quickly went down to Bran. She tried to remain calm for the child inside of her, so the knot in her throat would not choke her, but silent tears still escaped from her eyes as she approached the Great Hall. There had been many false Arya imposers over the years, but if there was someone who could recognize Arya, that was Jon.

“Sansa!” She heard Bran and everything became a whirling of emotions, reading Jon’s short letter, reading about her sister safety and promising them more news soon. There was Meera hugging an emotional Bran, Gendry and Rickon grinning at each other from ear to ear with tears in the corners of their eyes, Alayne hugging her and demanding explanations for such turmoil while Harry tried to calm her down. All through that, Shaggydog and Summer howls could be heard as they joined the she-wolf’s.

 And for the first time in a long time, Nymeria’s howls, instead of making them sad, warmed their hearts with hope.

The pack would finally be together in Winterfell, the wolves would come again for Arya was coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! Semester's ending and at such, I am full of exams, I'll try to update the next one as soon as possible, but Jon chapter will be a hard one... you will see why...
> 
> I though that Gendry needed a bit more characterization, hopefully this chapter gave him justice... please review! tell me what you think!


	5. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for taking so long, finals are worse than the others. Excuse any mistakes and don't be afraid of pointing them out.

Winterfell was across the hill they were currently looking at, and that realization made him smile. He hadn’t been back in more than eighteen moons, only communicating with his siblings by letter. Even though he had found a home in Castle Black and brothers among the men of the Night’s Watch, his heart still aches for Winterfelll every now and then. He has spent nearly a decade wearing the black, but sometimes he longs to be a boy again playing with Robb and watching over his younger brothers and sisters. His smile only widened at the idea of hugging them all so soon, feeling them healthy and well, seeing them all together at their home. Ghost seemed anxious to see his pack as well, sniffling around like a common dog.

He looked to his side, where his dearest sister looked ahead, no trace of emotion on her face. His own smile faded when he realized that she once again looked as if everything was indifferent to her. He had hoped seeing the woods and fields where she had once ridden her horse with joy would wake up some feeling within her, but he had come to realize that the girl he once parted with is not the same that came back to him.

She didn’t even come to him on her own. The red woman had gone with King Stannis after bringing Jon back to the land of the living, and remained in King’s Landing as Queen Selyse personal priestess and keeps whispering in the Baratheon King’s ear, much to the displeasure of ser Davos. His little sister was in the dungeons of the Red Keep, recently trapped in a cellar. She was put there for killing the King’s Master of Whisper’s friend Illyrio. Lord Varys had her arrested and she managed to escape, but then she was caught when she killed the Spider. Melisandre managed to sneak a look at her and immediately recognized her, claiming to have seen in the fire that Jon Snow lost sister would return to secure Stannis sit on the throne. Stannis sent him a raven as soon as this was possible,

_“I own my throne and perhaps our lives to your lady sister for killing the Spider. Lord Varys had been working for the exiled Targaryens all these years, but their plans will be cut short now that I am aware of their intentions. With the Spider dead, Aegon Targaryen agreed to return Storm’s End to Baratheons as long as I gave him Dragonstone. It was a just and fair trade, and hopefully it will put our families at peace. Daenerys Stormborn however, only desires the Iron Throne, but the news of her fits of madness has reached our ears and I will die before I allow another Mad Targaryen to rule Westeros._

_The Night’s Watch supported my claim to the throne even when their oaths obliged them to remain neutral. I gave you men to protect the Wall, in turn the Night’s Watch approval earned me approval from the rest of Westeros. I won the North back to the Starks and in turn you helped me win the North’s good graces. Now, your sister has helped me secure my throne, I will return the favor by bringing her to safety to you, for I know you longed to have her by your side. She certainly has your look, the Stark look. When Melisandre introduced me to her, I saw late lady Lyanna in her._

_She departs with a few of my man in three days, the ship will…”_

There had been many Arya impostors over the years, but Jon had seen the power of the Red Priestess. Not wanting to disappoint his family, he had kept it hidden until he could see for himself if this was Arya. He had ridden to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and met her there and he remembers seeing the ship coming closer and closer, seeing a tall slender woman walk along the pier. Needle was at her hip. He had run to her and quickly taken her in his arms. He expected her arms to squeeze him and hear her laughter and see her horsey grin. Instead she had tensed and winced at his touch and when he let her go, he only found cold eyes staring at him, her beautiful face a mask of indifference. Slowly, ever so slowly, she had brought up her hands to his face and said his name In a whisper as she closed her eyes. When she opened again, she had broken him with her words.

“I didn’t remember your face. Even your name eluded me at times.”

He had not cried in front of his men. But when they were at their chambers that night, he had cried. Tears fell as he had to answer to some of her questions, for his sister was so lost, she did not remember the most basic things. She mixed the names of their brothers, and he had to actually tell her the story of their family. Everything had been alright until his telling of what happened after he went to the Wall, of the little information he knew. She got upset and pushed him away, wishing to be left alone.

Ever since then, Jon had realized that Arya would be calm one minute, sometimes remembering the most random things, before getting aggressive and demanding to be left alone, to then begging him to be reminded of something that eluded her memory and frustrated her. His happy and wild little sister had become someone unstable and so utterly lost, he even got to think that perhaps she should have died.

“I can’t remember her faces.” She had guided her horse close to his, and so she spoke quietly and looking ahead. I remember their looks are Tully’s and that is different from ours, but not exactly… their faces.”

He wanted to hug her and hold her until his embrace reminded her of everything, but he knew better. “You’re right, their look is different from ours.  Sansa’s face is fair and very gentle, but her eyes can become very stern sometimes. Bran has an understanding face, very calm eyes and even softer smile. Rickon is a wild thing; his eyes always seem to sparkle with adventure.”

She closed her eyes momentarily and looked at him. “Robb had their looks as well, I remember him smiling next to you.” His own mind replayed him thousand occasions when he would look upon his little sibling with Robb next to him, smiling at their antics.

Arya seemed lost in her own memories, for she had a faraway look in her eyes. He knew remembering was hard and painful for her, and she confessed him that during her time in Braavos it had been so easy to forget everything. She told him of the Faceless Men, of how they reprimanded her every time she did anything that got her closer to her old identity.

He cringed when he heard her story. She had very foggy memories of her time before arriving to the House of Black and White, so he had to tell her the same tale they had told him, and only then she remember the Brotherhood. She simply told him that she entered the service of the Braavosi assassins and was forced to strip herself of her old identity and wear the faces of dead people. He listened as she explained to him how she would get the memories of the people, their nightmares, how she took infinite names and identities and killed whoever she was ordered to. He understood her confusion; after so many faces and so many mixed memories, how could she tell which ones were truly her own?

“I remember Nymeria. Never truly forgot her, only just ignored her sometimes… She… I always felt her in my dreams. Now that you explained to me… I could see through her eyes, I’m sure now.” She spoke again, and hearing her say her wolf’s name brought a smile to his face. He had explained her about his connection to Ghost and how Nymeria was waiting for her at Winterfell.

“I know very little about warging, but Bran is an expert, I’m sure he will explain it to you even better than I did.” He wondered if Arya would even attempt to talk to Bran. Sometimes, he felt Arya only opened to him because she was lonely and bored. Other times, Arya would stare at him with something similar to affection in her eyes, and hope that she would be back would come to him again.

They stopped to rest and eat, Winterfell still half a day away. She sat next to him in front of the fire, and maybe the landscape was indeed awakening some feelings within her. She wasn’t into closeness, eyeing him warily during their first moments together and tensed at his touch. Now however, she sat next to him and even offered him a sweet small smile. He resisted the urge to hug her again and simply smiled back. They ate a rabbit’s leg in silence whil Ghost settled in front of them.

“I’m scared.” Her voice sounded small, but so close to him. “Something in me longs to go back but I’m scared because I don’t really know where I’m going.” She admitted.

“You will be ok, they will understand…” Began Jon only to be interrupted.

“I don’t want them to know! What if they are disgusted by what I am, what I’ve done?” She sounded truly worried and although he didn’t want to see his sister in distress, Jon was a bit glad that she at least seemed to care.

“You’re our sister, a Stark of Winterfell, nothing else matter.” It was true to him, and he knew it would be that way to their family.

“I haven’t been Arya Stark in a long time.” She answered simply, and once again that mask of detachment took over her features.

“It matter not, they will accept you and embrace you as you are now.” He spoke surely.

“I hope so, the Faceless Men wouldn’t take me back now, I broke their most important rules. I killed someone I already knew; I wore my own face under my own identity, I …”

“Arya, that doesn’t… Look, even if you don’t think they will accept you, please believe me when I tell you that I will always offer you shelter and safety. You’re my little sister and I…” he didn’t get to finish for his words only made her react with cold fury.

“I am not a little girl. I’ve killed men, young girls still innocent, even children. I don’t need protection from anyone and I don’t want to be forced to be with people who will treat me like a fragile thing!” She started calm, but ended her sentence with the force he remembered she used to have. “You want me to be something I am not anymore. You want me to be someone I don’t even remember!”

A part of him wanted to soothe her, but another part wanted to keep listening to her fierce voice, full of that attitude of hers that he always loved. But angering her and driving her away was the last thing he wanted, so he simply settled for the truth. “We… I don’t know you anymore, but I will love you all the same sister.”

She smiled at him, a sad smile more filled with fear than hope.  “Your love is sweet dear Jon, but it could not change my nature. What if I don’t like to be a Stark of Winterfell?”

As much as he longed for her safe back in their home, as much as he knew that the pack would never be complete without her, he would never wish for her unhappiness, even if that meant Arya would refuse her name once again. “Then I would set you free. Even if they don’t want it, I would help you get away.”

Her grey eyes bore into his and he saw such a similarity in them that he could hardly contain the tears as she took his hands in hers, her touch cold but strong all the same. “Promise me Jon, promise me.”

How could he ever deny anything to his most beloved sibling? Even if it pained him for the rest of his life, he would grant her whatever she needed to be happy and in peace. “I swear,” he said surely, “on my honor, I promise Arya.”

She nodded ad him, before asking him to see his sword. He handed it to her so she could examine it carefully. Her smile and admiration at his bastard sword reminded him of little Arya watching him practice with Robb, encouraging him with thrill in her voice and he couldn’t help but smile. They talked a bit about sword fighting and technique, the conversation flowing easily and warming him with its easiness. When they finally found nothing else to discuss, they settled in a comfortable silence and a wolf was heard in the distance.

She didn’t say anything, simply laid her head on top of his shoulder. He rested his cheek against her head and dared to hope that the sound would wake up some homesickness in her.

They reached Winterfell near nightfall and as he had requested, no big affair was made of their arrival. He had sent a raven to Bran, explaining him that Arya would not react well to any grand event and that it was better if only the family was present.

The rebuilt castle looked as impressive as it did in his youth, and the flying banners of the Stark made him proud, even when he was no longer tied to the house. This would always be his first home and nothing would ever change that, he hoped that was true to his sister as well. The men that came with him remained in the courtyard, while he and Arya entered the Great Keep.

Three pair of Tully blue eyes greeted them and both he and Arya stopped dead in their tracks at the sight, and he felt his sister hold her breath next to him. They walked towards them steadily, although he felt Arya’s uncertainty flow between them. Bran and Sansa were both frozen in their seats with unreadable expressions, while Rickon stood behind his brother like a statue. The only noise was the sound of their footsteps.

And then Nymeria ran out of nowhere straight into their path. The she-wolf actually growled at them, her pointy teeth shinning and her yellow eyes as deadly as any untrained wolf. Ghost quickly stepped in front of him, but Arya remained unprotected against her own wild direwolf. His sister looked at her beloved pet with the same deathly glare, and Jon could see for the first time the fearless assassin he knew his sister was. Sansa, Bran and Rickon looked at the scene with well-masked suspicion in their eyes, and he knew they were preparing themselves for yet another deception, yet another false Arya.

But Arya simply extended her hand and Nymeria’s nuzzled her fingers. It seemed an eternity of feeling passed between the two of them before Arya’s eyes filled with tears and the wolf jumped on her, licking her face and soon, the girl was retuning the affection by running her finger through her fur and hugging the wolf.

Only then did Sansa react. She stood, regal as any queen and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. She walked towards them and stood in front of Arya. Jon was surprised his little sister let the redhead take her face in her hands and run her finger across her features. Then Sansa lost all composure and hugged Arya while brusting into tears.

Arya tensed at first, as Jon expected her to, but eventually she let out a breath and slowly  hugged her sister back. Sansa let out a teary laugh and whispered “Arya oh Arya, I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

They separated, only a little so their arms were still around each other and it surprised Jon that Arya was not much smaller than Sansa, just a bit. Now that he finally saw her next to a woman, he realized that his little sister was indeed, a woman. It was Arya’s turn to touch her sister face, once again a farway look taking over her. “What do you apologize for?”

Hearing her voice seemed to move Bran and Rickon to shed  a few tears themselves and the smalles couldn’t contain himself anymore and took a few long strides before engulfing his sister in a tight hug and laughing.

“For not defending you in front of Joffrey! For being such a stupid little child…” Sansa answered smiling as Arya hugged Rickon back. Just by looking into her grey eyes, Jon knew Arya did not remember what Sansa was talking about, but Bran’s interruption captured their attention.

“Sister, sister. I cannot go to you, please come to me.” There was something moving about Bran, who was always so collected and controlled, now with a trembling voice and uneasily moving in his seat, extending his arms towards them.

Arya, ever so oddly silent, but with fresh tears in her eyes gave him a sad smile before walking to where he was seated and hugging him. Jon saw the peace in his sister face and he knew that his suspicions were right, now that she was seeing everything again her memories were coming back to her and the fog that had settled in her mind seemed to disperse.

He remembered his group of men outside. Considering Bran and Rickon where with the family, probably no one had gone to tell them to rest or assigned them a place to sleep. Throwing one last look at Arya, who was smiling and seemed able to spend some moments without him, he stepped outside to put some order.

However, someone was already speaking to the men. Jon could only see his back, but the man’s voice reminded him of… Stannis.  When the lad had finally stopped addressing the brothers of the Night’s Watch, the men dispersed and walked in the direction of the guest’s rooms.

“I sent them to the guest’s wing. There are not a lot of rooms and some of them still aren’t inm perfect condition, but it’s better than sleeping in some inn in Wintertown.” Answered the young man and upon closer inspection Jon realized that his blue eyes could only belong to a Baratheon. This had to be the young lord Bran wrote him about, Gendry.

“Thank you. I had little time to do anything before seeing my family,” replied Jon, not wanting to waste time in talking anyone except his brothers and sisters, “On the morrow I will ask Bran to think of proper arrangements. I plan on sending them back, only remain here with a pair of them.”

“Yes my lord. We will provide them anything they need for their journey back.” Offered ser Gendry, but he did not end there. “Did she… Did lady Arya… Did they see each other already, are they ok?”

The concern seemed genuine on his face, and so Jon had no problem in answering with the truth. “It was painful for all of us, but happy at the same time. I’m not quite sure how to explain it.”

“But she is alright? She’s not hurt?” Once again, worry seemed obvious in his voice, and Jon wondered why he would care so much.

“She’s alright. It’s been harsh for her and her memories are confusing to her but I know that being in Winterfell will be good to her and…”

He saw Gendry’s eyes look up and there was something in there.  A brightness that made his eyes shine and soon took over the rest of his face, a smile forming on his lips.

“Jon!” called someone from behind him. He quickly turned and was a little struck at how beautiful Arya looked. She was smiling, finally, on top of the stairs of the Great Hall, her long hair framed her pretty long face, her grey eyes so vivacious once again. Clothed in her furs and with the gentle summer snow falling around them, she looked every bit the northern beauty he had heard his men call her.

Her eyes locked not with his, but with Gendry.

“Arya.” He sounded breathless and a bit of anxiousness was evident in his voice. This man knew his sister, from before. Something Arya once mentioned…

_They were speaking in their chambers about what happened in King’s Landing with the Spider and the Red Woman, when the conversation came to the subject of Stannis._

_“He is a just man. Honorable.” Declared Jon._

_“I like his eyes. They remind me of someone and… I didn’t feel like I knew where I was until I looked into his eyes.”_

His sister had travelled north with the Brotherhood without Banners, and the young Baratheon knight was once part of that group, had they met before? It was the only explanation possible for the look in his sister's face. With uncertainty in her voice, Arya spoke up.

“Ser?”

Jon quickly went to her side, worried about his sister state of mind. She looked a little lost and nervous at how the Baratheon lad kept on staring at her.

“M’lady, welcome back.” The smile in his face faltered when she did not react to his words.

Just then Nymeria ran past Jon and his sister and went to Gendry’s, slowly circling him and pushing him towards them, occasionally licking his fingers in affection. Why was the she-wolf so affectionate?

“Don’t know who you are, but thank you” finally answered his sister, quickly getting more flustered, “and don’t call me m’lady.” She took Jon’s hand and made her way inside.

Behind them, Gendry stood under the snow, Nymeria howling at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elusive Arya makes an appearance! Next chapter is hers and a LOT will be explained so please be patient. Review are love! : D


	6. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for waiting patiently, again, school and finals be damned.
> 
> Apologies for any grammar mistakes

She was no stranger to wearing dresses. Many occasions, for many faces, required she wear dresses over the years. But she never felt comfortable in one. Sansa seemed to understand that, and never actually demanded she wear one except for today. Many lords from the North and their families were there for her brother’s nameday and to unofficially celebrate her return. At least it was just a blue wool dress with a very simple grey pattern, her hair braided as always and free of any paint or jewels.

Still, dresses and she were never friends, and walking in the Godswood as she was doing now proved to be a difficult task with the fabric getting between her legs.

The silence grew as she went deeper in the woods, the sound of Stark’s bannermen drifted farther and farther away as her eyes captured the beauty of the place. Only the faint sound of music could be heard. Jon had taken her here the morrow after she had been back, five days ago. Most of the men that had come with them from the Wall had left that very same day, and now only Jon and his two most trusted men remained. She dreaded the moment her brother would leave. He was the only who knew, the only one she trusted enough to admit every kill, every horrible thing she had done.

She loved her family, but Bran and Sansa and Rickon would never know her.  Jon was always the one who understood her in the first place, and now it seemed that her other sibling were further away than how they were when she was little. Although they all played together, she was always the one with the odd attitude, and the only ones who liked it were Jon and her father. She remembers a lot about the two of them, but her brothers and sister remain distant to her. Of Lady Stoneheart she could hardly allow herself to think. The dead and their bodies ought to be respected, and what was done to Catelyn Stark was a vile thing. For years, she has spent her days learning how to handle death with respect and delicacy, yet here in Westeros people seemed to care so little for human parts. They tortured, flayed, beheaded, sewed body parts and did all sort of atrocities to their dead, and the though just disgusted her. That Lady Stoneheart was to her an abomination.

Jon had explained it to them and spared her from the humiliation of admitting she had a tarnished memory, and apparently it was common knowledge among the castle that they had to treat her with care and not ask too many questions. Her siblings did not question her about her time in Brravos but they still tried to make her remember, they told her about the games they played and the food they ate and the songs they sang, but no matter how much her heart yearned to remember, some things remained confusing to her mind. She had wore so many faces over the years, their memories, their nightmares, their feelings and their names all came to her in a mess that danced across her mind like the memory of a dream.

Nymeria was silent beside her, barely making any noise as she dutifully accompanied her. Arya reached the heart tree with difficulty, but once there she was rewarded with a piece of mind. Jon had been right, no matter what, this place had a certain way of giving order to one’s thoughts and definitely helped her with sorting out what were Arya’s memories and not someone else’s. The music still came, and she tried to remember the song’s name and soon it came to her: The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

She sat next to the pool of still black water and studied her own reflection. She looked like Jon, except feminine and considerably more tanned after years by the sea. She touched the fabric of her dress and the length of her braid. Suddenly, she remembered her mother braiding her hair when she was just a little girl, warning her yet again to not mess up her work by going around playing in the dirt. She smiled fondly at the thought of having someone braid her hair every day, for years it had been just her gathering her hair in messy buns or ponytails to get it out of her way.

Movement in the trees distracted her from the memories, and soon the big figure of ser Gendry appeared, shock evident in his face at seeing her there, although Nymeria happily went to his side and threw herself to his feet. He smiled at her wolf’s antics and soon crouched to pet her.

“She behaves like a common dog when she is next to you”, she offered as a welcome, “ losing composure like that, demanding to be petted.”

He looked at her, but quickly adverted his gaze back to Nymeria. “She just needs affection.” He mumbled that with a hint of longing in his voice, and Arya didn’t know what to make of it.

“Was she always like that? I don’t… I don’t remember much of her but she wasn’t exactly… needy.” She wondered.

“She was fierce at first; she came to me in battle you see, near the Twins.” This time, his gaze did remain with her, but his hands still gently caressed the she-wolf’s fur. “But once the fighting was over, she demanded attention. It is hard to ignore her demands.” He added the last part with a chuckle and she could only smile back. A new song began playing, it’s tune easy to recognize, The Dornishman’s Wife.

They stood like that and once again she marveled in his eyes. It happened the first time she saw him in the courtyard, and it kept happening every time they crossed paths. They reminded her of something she could not define. She knows they are the same as his uncle’s, the ones that also shocked her so hard when they met. There is something about them… So sure of themselves and of the way things are, so certain of what it is and what is not, it was exactly what she didn’t have.

Even during her years with the Faceless Men, she always felt so unsettled, so paranoid and unsure of things. She got used to feeling in constant danger, but that didn’t mean it ever became easy to live with such uncertainties in her life and coming back to Winterfell didn’t seem to erase the fog in her mind, the constant anxiety.

“Are you alright?” She was brought back to reality by his voice, and she realized she was gripping the fabric of her dress, her own hands trembling. Nymeria had gone back to her side, tenderly licking her shaky hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Thankfully, her voice didn’t tremble. Ser Gendry looked back at her with something between skepticism and mirth.

“Well, you should be inside and you’re here.” He offered. Oh wasn’t he so smart?

“Yeah well,” she actually didn’t have an intelligent response to that but she couldn’t let him win so easily, “I should actually be on my way back to Braavos, but I don’t always feel like doing what’s expected of me.”

“I’m aware, m’lady.” He offered with a smile, and really, it was so boring to win when he so easily complied her. When did it become a competition? And why did it irritate her so?

“Don’t call me that!” She quickly admonished him “And for your information, I am not inside because I can’t stand so many courtesies and stupid fancy words.” She admitted.

“I understand,” he admitted as well, “they are all so boring. But the northern lords want to see you. And I am pretty sure lady Sansa longs to keep a close eye on you.”

“Why are you not there? You’re the King’s nephew, surely you’re a much interesting sight”

She tried to advert the conversation towards him, still not comfortable with speaking of herself. His face contorted at her remark and he seemed to be thinking deeply. After some time he sat next to her, which surprised and she would have jumped, but he took an end of her dress between his fingers. It was improper and borderline scandalous since it made her legs visible, but she truly did not care. She lived in Braavos, wearing little clothing was common to her and so was showing skin to men. Still, his reaction startled her, so straightforward and intimate.

“I’m just a bastard really, even if I am a legitimized one. Besides, I have been in Bran’s court for a while, most of the lords I’ve met in different festivities. You’re a resurrected lady, yet another Stark back home. A Northern beauty they all want to marry.”

“I am not a lady. And I do not wish to marry anyone.” She ignored the comment about her beauty. He kept playing with the end of her dress and Nymeria was resting on the ground, her eyes fluttering shut, clearly forgetting she was supposed to protect her and keep alert. So much for faithful direwolf.

“You’re wearing a dress, your hair is braided, you certainly look like a lady.” He dared to tease her, with an insolent smile nonetheless.

“I… do not, it is just a… disguise. There is… absolutely no lady in me.” She stammered, he really put her out of her wits, made her feel stupid. She knew he was getting her worked up, and she remembered the last time she felt that way, she had easily found a release to that energy with good-looking Tyroshi. Ser Gendry was more handsome than him, and she could keep her mind from imagining that.

“Then why are all those lords so eager to get under your skirts?” he asked and there was an edge of something else in his voice, but she could not identify it. Not knowing what else to do, she punched his arm. He simply laughed and she tried to do it again, only for him to catch her wrist. She quickly snagged back her arm, but the fabric tears up at her shoulder. She pushed him but he caught her and drag her along, going down with him. She lay next to him and couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from her, he looked at her a little bewildered at her reaction, but soon joined with his own booming laugh.

His eyes seemed happy and glowed with his smile, and she couldn’t stop laughing at their antics, two grown up persons fighting like children. A new song began playing and she was surprised when he started humming its tune.

_My featherbed is deep and soft_

_And there I’ll lay you down_

“Acorns” the word escaped her mind and Gendry widened his eyes. His blue eyes, his black hair, his strong frame, all too familiar to her.

_I’ll dress you all in yellow silk_

_And on your head a crown_

“Arya” he said as he sat up, then looked down at her. “Arry.”

_For you shall be my lady love_

_And I shall be your lord_

Gendry’s eyes met hers and she couldn’t speak because she knew. She knew how he knew her, she understood why he was here, why he called her m’lady, why he laughed at her dress…

_I’ll always keep you warm and safe_

_And guard you with my sword._

She knew him, and he knew her. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe so she just extended her arms toward him and he took her in his. And he was still Gendry, tall and muscular, smelling like smoke and metal and looking stupid with that bloody grin on his face.

_And how she smiled and how she laughed_

_The maiden of the tree_

“You should have told me something you stupid!” She admonished him and put some space between them enough to punch him in the chest. He merely laughed at her.

“And risk having you all dazed and confused? Lord Jon would kill me, m’lady.” She tried to say something back to him, but couldn’t speak through her own smile.

_She spun around and said to him_

_No featherbed for me!_

“I have so much to tell you and, how did you get here?” She asked and she knew she should step away but his arms felt good around her, safe and certain, so different from how she usually felt.

“That is a long boring story, I rather hear your adventures.” He answered.

_I’ll wear a crown of golden leaves_

_And bind my hair with grass_

“I asked you first you bull!” She offered and she wondered if they were going to start fighting about who had to speak first now. It felt good to have someone banter and challenge her, everyone treated her so carefully she welcomed it.

“As m´lady comands.” He complied and this time she did push him again, only to stand up, take his hand and make way towards the castle for the wine that they would drink as they talked about their lives. Nymeria happily howled and it almost sounded as if she was singing along with their laughter.

_But you can be my forest love_

_And me your forest lass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one is an epilogue, simply because I am not ready to say goodbye to this story so easily xD I'm debating whether to use Alayne or Gendry's POV xD
> 
> Please review and tell me what you think!


	7. Epilogue: Gendry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You demanded it, and I have to admit it was a challenge, getting into his head was nearly impossible. Although I couldn’t keep Alayne out of this.
> 
> As always, forgive any typos.

He wakes up before her, which is not a common occurrence by any means. Her back is to him, and he resists the urge to kiss some of the white little marks in her skin. He has never worked up the courage to ask her much about her scars, thinking it’s more of a step back than forwards. Her breath is even, and he knows it’s a signal that she’s free of nightmares and he relaxes at the thought. The sun is just starting to appear and he’s glad that it means she went through a whole night without bad dreams haunting her. She usually came to him in earnest to search either a relief to her nightmares or to her tensions, and he gladly complied. Ever since she arrived he had wanted her to feel at ease in Winterfell, if not for his love for her, for her family who had accepted them so easily.

He slowly gets up from the featherbed and walks towards his clothes, putting them on making as little noise as possible. Many times he wishes he could go back to the simplicity of his forge, but he won’t deny that sleeping here is ten thousand times better that the old cot. Or the ground, if he’s considering all the places he has slept in his life. Walking to the door, he takes one last glance at her sleeping form and smirks at the idea that he exhausted her enough to produce such a deep slumber.

He walks towards his chambers and changes into new clothes. He’s sore and he has marks in his body. It doesn’t surprise him to be honest, she tends to scratch and bite a lot during their bedding, but he has come to accept it as part of her wolfish nature and even like it. Not that he would be able to deny her anyway.

Most of Winterfellis still sleeping but some are getting up. He greets the service and whoever he encounters. Some of the things he likes the most is the North’s simplicity, people here seemed to find no trouble in sharing japes and words with commoners or highborns. Somedays Meera and him would go to Wintertown in Bran’s name to see the state of the rebuilt town and he was surprised of the easiness in her exchange with the common folk. Bran was polite and amicable with anyone who came to his court to search aid and everyone spoke of how nice and just he was. He wondered daily how Sansa and Bran could be related to Arya and Rickon, who could hardly hold their tongue when it came to improper language and japes at other’s expense.

He breaks his fast with Rickon and Lady Meera, little Robb next to her. Bran was still sleeping soundly as a result from the wine, and he doesn’t feel guilty about the relief that overcomes him when he notices his absence in the table. He’s pretty sure Bran is aware of everything that happens in Winterfell  and that though enough was scary even if he didn’t  have add that Arya slipped into his chambers as usually as he slipped into hers.

“I saw you dancing with lady Lyanna Mormont Rickon.” Casually commented Meera. Gendry suppressed a laugh at the woman’s lack of sneakiness. Rickon merely grunted in response. “Now, It doesn’t really concern me where your sort sword finds it’s sheath, but please do be careful. The last thing Bran needs is some angry lord or lady coming here to demand for recommendation for a daughter lost’s honor.”

This time, neither Gendry nor Rickon could keep a straight face, before Rickon answered swiftly. “I hold no intentions of siring any bastards dear good-sister. I am aware of how harsh the world is to them. I am… very careful with my… lady friends.”

Meera shaked her head, but ended up laughing along with them.  On the other tables, lords and ladies from other houses were beginning to seat and eat, the sun finally rising enough to wake the guests from their sleeps. Last night they had celebrated little Robbie’s third nameday  and the wine and the feast had been good, as was the dancing. He didn’t know a thing about steps and neither did Arya, and so they drank their Dornish wine  as they laughed at the expense of what others were doing and sharing their fair share of dirty japes.

She looked so odd in a dress, but beautiful at the same time. She seemed uncomfortable and unnerved by all the stares from the men. Seven hells, even he was upset by them.  Arya laughed at his furious glare and even made some stupid speech how he had no real right to feel angry. It had been that feeling and the stupid wine that had led him to clasp her hand and unceremoniously lead her all to way to her chamber and take her right against the door, and then her bed, numerous times. 

“Good morning everyone.” Happily saluted Sansa, Alayne came behind her along with little Ned. “Harry is still sleeping; apparently he and Bran had a good time yesterday.”

“Yes, Bran and Harry enjoyed a drinking game, which I’ve always told Bran he is awful at, but apparently not even all his greenseeing wisdom can make him understand than there’s nothing good about excessive amounts of drinking.” Meera informed.

Everyone laughed at that. No matter how calm and wise, Bran was still a Northman and when a son reached three namedays he still celebrated in the ways of the North: with copious amounts of food and drink. Little Rob and Ned were starting a small food battle that was soon stopped by their mothers.

“Aunt Arya told me that neither of them would survive black tar rum.” Offered Alayne. Everyone laughed at the little girl, but Sansa looked scandalized at her daughter’s comment.

“I will go to White Harbor in search for some of that rum and hold a drinking game with Arya herself!” Japed Rickon. Gendry feared for Winterfell if Arya and Rickon ever truly played one.

“I accept that dare!” Arya, now dressed in her usual breeches and tunic, made her presence known from the door as she happily messed Alayne’s hair and softly stroked little Ned in the head before taking a seat next to her niece. He had a hard time swallowing when she finally looked at him with mischief in her eyes. He felt Sansa’s stare on them and he quickly averted his eyes, wondering how in seven hells could Arya act so naturally.

They all continued their eating and soon some lords offered the idea of a hunting party. Of course Rickon happily accepted in the name of his brother and many ladies offered their company, including the lady Lyanna. Alayne wanted to go as well but Sansa was not sure, only when lady Meera offered to go as well and watch Alayne did the girl get permission, if only because she was such a good rider that it was sad to keep her on the indoors when she was finally in Winterfell where she could ride as much as she liked.

Young lord Hoster Umber asked Arya if she wanted to go, her riding skills famous among the Northern men. The man lustful glance made Gendry’s blood boil, but she simply answered that she had business to take care for the day. As most of the tables cleared and Sansa declared she was taking the little boys to the Godswood, he looked up from his plate to see Arya looking longingly at the door.

“If you wanted to go, you should have just gone.” He said. She simply scoffed.

“And have them treat me like a helpless lady, with their courtsies and not letting me near the hunting weapons and…” She looked at him and he saw something else besides irritation in her eyes but he couldn’t name it, “Well, it’s stupid. They’re stupid.”

“Arya,” he tried not to laugh, “there are other words in the common tongue besides stupid.”

“How would you know? It’s the only one that fits you.” She quickly answered and he could hardly resist the urge to kiss her furrowed brow.

“Well, I’m going to the forge to examine what steel we have there.  Lord Harrion Kastark requested a sword for his son. Apparently young Torrhen will be able to swing a proper sword by his next nameday and he heard of my trade.”

“And of course you couldn’t deny the chance of enclosing yourself in your forge and swing your hammer.” There was no mockery in her voice, if anything; there was a subtle smile on her lips. “Can I come along with you? I want to polish Needle until it shines.”

“Why?” He found that strange, she didn’t really use Needle anymore, she had another sword that came with her from Braavos and was more adequate to her size. “I haven’t seen you use Needle since we were near Harrenhal.”

“Well… Alayne confessed to me she wanted a sword and I think Needle is appropriate besides… Nevermind.” She was quiet once again and he wanted to shake her shoulder and demand she finishes her sentence, tired at the fact that she still silenced so many things. It wasn’t uncommon that she stopped short whatever she was saying when they spoke. He knew caution was part of who she was before coming back, but he wondered how long it would take before she spoke freely of her feelings and opinions.

They went to the forge and as he worked, she went to a corner and started to polish her sword. He couldn’t help stealing glances at her. With her long dark hair braided, her grey eyes full of concentration as she worked dutifully and Nymeria faithfully at her feet she looked truly as herself, not as fake and strange as she looked last night. He nearly lost his breath when her eyes suddenly focused on him. He saw the small hint of sadness in them and worry crept over him.

Her sadness scared him as it scared Rickon, Sansa, Bran and Jon. They all feared her sadness as they feared the Others. She had tried to adapt to her new life back in Winterfell and all of them were scared one day she would decide she didn’t want to be there and run away.  He left his tool on the table and approached her with heavy steps. He saw her bit her lip and his hands covered hers, the familiar electricity of their touch making his skin burn, and let her own tool and sword next to her as he sat on her other side.

“What is it?” She was avoiding his gaze, but no matter how much he wanted to shake her and make her respond, he knew better. He has had four years to learn how to read her again.

“Bran was in his cups yesterday and I had to ask him,” she started and he was surprised by the vulnerability in her voice, “I knew he wouldn’t tell me the truth when in his wits so I had to ask him if it was true he was planning on having me married.”

He swallowed the knot on his throat with difficulty. He had never asked Arya for any promises, and Gods know he sometimes stayed awake at night trying to decipher what in seven hells were they doing. Putting pressure on Arya never seemed like a good idea but he was pretty tired of shutting up whatever doubts he had as long as he didn’t make her uncomfortable. “What did he say?”

 “He said that he had avoided it as long as possible but there was only so much he could do before it became rude for him to deny more proposals. He said that betrothals make for good alliances and well, even I know that.”

“Hold on, hold on,” He let go and stood up facing her. “You… you know that? What is that supposed to mean? Am I to stand in the bloody Godswood and watch as Hoster fucking Umber puts his cloak on your shoulders?!”

He knew he shouldn’t raise his voice but he was furious and honestly, Arya was a little stupid herself, sometimes she needs someone to yell at her.

“No!” It wasn’t hard to start fighting with her. “That is not what I meant!”

“Well could you explain yourself better, m’lady? I don’t have all day you know?” He started to turn around but the fury in her eyes scared him just a little.

“Oh if I’m taking so much of your precious time then never mind me, go back to hammering pieces of metal you moron!” She was very agitated and of course now Nymeria was looking at him with reproach in her eyes.

“And you can go back to your wedding plans, I’m sure lady Sansa will be glad to help you!”

“You know what? That’s not even what I… You stupid! You’re so stupid! Do you truly believe that I would marry that idiot? I wouldn’t marry anyone that wasn’t you anyways!”

“How would I know? You don’t tell me anything!”

“Well you don’t ask! Am I supposed to guess you have questions? I am not able to read minds you know?! Not to mention that…”

He ignored her shouting, It was a stupid argument and especially considering that apparently she wasn’t marrying anyone that wasn’t him anyways, wait. Oh Gods he was stupid.

“… as if I was some fainting lady who would swoon over that – What are you doing, wha-!”

Her lips tasted delicious and her breath was already agitated from their quarrel. Her little fist tried to push him away but he had placed his hand firmly on her waist and he had no intentions of letting her go anytime soon. Finally his body came to terms with a little distance and he put some space between them.

“Stupid.” Was all she said before her lips found his again. Content, she put her arms around his neck and he pushed her against the wall for a lazy kiss. Usually, they were much more impatient and eager, but now it seemed there was a calming quality to their kiss. It was never like that for them, since the beginning it was always fast and impatient, always fearing something would keep them apart.

He and Arya had been inseparable since she came back. He had duties as part of Bran’s court but he had never been too fond of them and Bran soon realized that he much rather spent time sparring with his sister than sitting and planning. He enjoyed the responsibilities of taking care of the ever-growing Winterfell and Wintertown, but he cared little for the alliances that needed to be made. Seeing how happy Arya seemed to have him around Bran had easily let them spend as much time together as they liked.

His common sense and the respect he felt for Bran and Rickon had made him hold back his desires at first, but there was only so much he could do against Arya, who always got what she wanted. When she had first tried to kiss him, he had told her it couldn’t be. But denying anything to Arya always meant she wanted it more.  He was stubborn and resisted until the first talk of marriage to a Southern had come in one of Sansa visits. That night Arya went to him, so beautiful and close to him, making it so painful to think someday some other man would think the same. Being a lord was never what he wanted and he got it anyway, and if Arya was what he wanted now, why say no?

Ever from that first time it had always felt desperate between them. At least on his part, the thought of losing her again seemed such a cruelty from the Gods, when he had gone to such a great lengths to be as close from her memory as possible.

“Stop thinking, you’re making it look hard.” His lips were on the skin of her neck when she said it. He stopped his ministrations and looked at her.

“And how would m’lady know when she can’t see my face?” Take that, smart girl.

“Well, I can just tell.” She answered and he chuckled, she always had to have the last word. “There might be some things we need to discuss.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded. Anything to keep her to himself. He was shit on a horse but he would ride an hour every day for the rest of their lives if it was her condition.

“I need to stay in Winterfell. I don’t care if Stannis demands you go to King’s Landing. I will kick his arse with my sword if it’s necessary,” she would, that he didn’t doubt, “and I will not sew your shirts or sit around while you go have fun with Rickon drinking ale” only she would find drinking with Rickon fun, “and I will not wear dresses.”

“I didn’t expect you to, you know?” It was true. If he wanted a lady wife, he would have taken one a long time ago. Even if he was born a bastard, now they all seemed to see the King’s nephew and some offers of marriage had come. Stannis had been close to marry him to a Tyrell maiden, but he had written to Shireen and she had spoken in his favor.

“Yes.” She bit her lip and looked at him in the eye, her stance firm. “I don’t want to be a mother. Ever, that won’t change. I would tell you that I don’t mind if you have bastards, but I know better.”

She knew him.  He would never have a bastard. It would be no children, ever. Just the two of them until death took them.  It would take a while to get used to, but for years he thought he would never see her again. He never had a fantasy of children with her and he hoped letting go of something he never dreamed wouldn’t be too hard. Having her and losing her, that would be unbearable.

He squeezed her hand and soon they were embracing again. She felt so real, tight and strong, like she had always been. Sometimes, during the nights, he could feel the weakness in her touch, the way she would search for something in him. Some to hold onto, he guessed. He could give her that. He would give her anything she wanted, really.  

Closing his eyes, he let his forehead touch hers, and he wondered briefly if his gentle touches were making her uncomfortable. However, when she opened his eyes he found her grey ones looking at him with the infinite deep sadness that, no matter how much he wanted to take away, never seemed to go. It was a sadness that was in Rickon, Bran, Jon and Sansa’s eyes as well. The same sadness that he had seen in her back when they were children. It would never go away, no matter how much all of them tried. Meera and lady Lyanna and Harry and him…. There was nothing they could do, just try to give them peace.

“Should I take you to the Godswood right now, m’lady?”

Her eyes light up with irritation and he tried to keep on a serious face. Oh how she loved a good fight, and how fun it was for him to fire her up.

“NO! Sansa is there you idiot. We wait until all those people leave and we go to the Godswood by ourselves. I bet Bran already saw it happening anyways.”

He smiled and left the comfort of her arms to go back to his inspection of the steel. Again a question came to his mind and he turned around. “Why do you want to give Alayne that sword?”

“Because I will never have a daughter to ask me for one.” She confessed.

He kept quiet for a long time afterwards, hating the atmosphere that they had created. “Sansa will kill you for that.” He said, expecting to lighten the mood.

“Well, when we get married you will have to protect me from her wrath.” She explained with a smile. How very convenient for her then.  He returned the smile and walked to her again.

“Oh you need protection now?”  She hummed as a respond, mischief in her eyes. “Well then it’s good that I’m the King’s nephew, they can’t harm my lady wife.”  Her laughter filled the forge, and he felt so calm he wondered if this was what happiness felt like.

“If Stannis were to ever save my life, it would be because of Jon, don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“Oh, am I too lowborn for my lady high?” He asked. She stood up and walked to the door, shiny Needle in hand.

“I’m going to go leave this buried in Alayne’s things. With some luck, I will avoid Sansa.”

That night instead of going to the feast, they walk hand in hand to the Godswood.  There’s no maiden’s cloack, no sigils, no escort, no lords and no ladies. Just the two of them, Nymeria  and the Old Gods.  The she-wolf goes with them all the way to the heart tree, but when they stopped she carried along and lost herself in the depth of the woods.

He is not a man of faith and the last time he prayed it was to the Seven, so he just sat in front of that weeping face and asked for health and happiness not truly believing something was listening to him. Instead, Arya sat next to him and closed her eyes, her lips moving but no sound escaping them. Then, when some time had passed, she finally looked up at him and with a solemn look took his hands in hers. “Do you take me?”

He nodded before giving his answer. “I take you, m’lady.”

She smiled at him and said “As I take you.” Her forehead touched his. “Do you want us to do the vows of the Southerners? “

He shaked his head. He already knew she was his, and he had been hers for the longest time.  He kissed her, deeply and passionately. Could they consummate their marriage here? Would it be disrespectful?

She seemed to read his mind, for she announced. “I would rather we don’t do this here. For all I know, Bran could be seeing.” The idea didn’t amuse him and he took her hand and quickly led her back to her chambers. They could hear Nymeria singing as they reached the doors. He stole kisses from her as they went up the stairs and never let go of her hand as he pushed her on the bed.

From that day until their graves, they would be family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, kudos and comments. Love you all!


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